[fic] one foot in and one foot back (but it don't pay to live like that)
title: one foot in and one foot back (but it don't pay to live like that)
author: liz_hollis
pairing: Joe/Nick
rating: PG-13
disclaimer: This didn't happen. Probably. It's very hard to say with any certainty these days.
summary: Yup. This is flashfic from today's Twitter incident. I'm gonna start calling it The Incident, like in Lost. Because it's that big a deal. Anyway, this is utterly ridiculous, I barely looked at it once through after writing it. It makes no sense! But that's okay, because I pretty much went through the looking glass today. It's the cross-eyed bear this fandom has left me with. The title is from 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers.
It's there, sitting in his inbox when Nick steps out of the recording booth for a break. He picks up his Blackberry, slugging a bottle of water in one long gulp and there it is; a notification that thisisjoej is following him and the tweet.
Fine... I'll stay!
NIck reads it and laughs, wiping water and sweat off his upper lip with the back of his arm. Sonny comes up behind him, doing a two-step to some non-existent music and peers over Nick's shoulder.
"What's funny, J?" he asks, snapping his fingers. Nick angles the phone so he can see and Sonny snorts, shaking his head.
"You got an oddball brother, kid."
Nick laughs, shrugging his shoulders, and shoots off a quick tweet about how excited he is for everyone to hear the song, and then they head back into the booths. The second chorus still needs work.
---
He doesn't really think about it again until he gets home that night. He's exhausted, his voice is raw and broken from scraping and forcing 'Stay' out so many times.
He's not satisfied with how it came out either, he actually still had wanted to rerecord the main vocal track one more time but John had practically picked him up and shoved him bodily from the recording booth. He'd said Nick was going to ruin his voice for the rest of the tour if he didn't stop.
Nick had just really wanted it to come out right. It's supposed to be an emotional song, and he wanted it to sound like he was pouring out his heart and soul into the music.
"I get it, Nick. But you aren't pouring out your heart and soul at this point. You're just pouring out the ground up remnants of your vocal cords," John had said, and put Nick in the towncar like a little kid.
He flops on his bed and flips open his laptop. Joe's tweet is still sitting in his inbox, and for some reason Nick finds himself just staring at it for awhile. He grabs his phone and opens up a new text.
Where are you?
It's a few minutes before his phone beeps.
Playin beirut w/Garbo, Jack and Ry. I'm loosing!
Nick shakes his head. Most of the texts and calls he's been getting from Joe since he went on tour have been coming in late-night clumps, and he's pretty sure they've been drunk-texts and drunk-dials. Lots of stuff like, tile floor as percusion instrument= genious and niiiiiick. you have button eyes like a care bear did i ever tell you? He's gotten phone messages after midnight every couple days that are just Joe singing. He deleted all of them after listening to them except Hot N'Cold because that one was just too good. Nick figures Joe is just letting loose and having fun with his newfound freedom, doing the college thing he'll probably never experience for real, and he doesn't really begrudge Joe that. But a couple of the phone calls have been weird; Joe slurring jumbled stories about when they first started out as a band, one time just Joe breathing quietly into the phone for a second and then hanging up with a mumbled 'sorry'.
I see u got a twitter, Nick texts back.
Yup, im officially a twat now.
Nick brushes the pad of his thumb back and forth across the little keypad. Sonny thinks your weird, he types slowly.
Joe doesn't respond right away, and Nick feels like maybe he shouldn't be texting Joe about this when he's drunk. He looks at the two other tweets Joe posted, the two other people he's following.
You kno i'm weird, comes the response. Nick closes his computer screen and presses his speed dial. He can hear music and shouting in the background when Joe picks up.
"Why aren't you here?" Nick asks without preamble. "I'm home for a day. What are you doing?"
He hears Joe's indrawn breath through the noise on the line. "I'm on my way."
"Take a cab," Nick reminds him.
---
Joe is leaning against the doorframe when Nick opens the door, and Nick is really glad his parents and Frankie are at a movie, because Joe looks drunk.
He's got two days worth of stubble shading his jaw and his hair's a mess, his shoelaces untied. He's got his glasses on, glare from the outdoor light reflecting off the smudged lenses. Joe swings forward and wraps his arms around Nick's neck, his grip surprisingly tight, almost desperate, the way he's hanging off Nick almost overbalancing them.
"You smell like beer," Nick murmurs into Joe's scarf. He feels Joe nod against his neck.
"I knocked over a whole cup," he says regretfully. "Mazeltov."
"Come on," Nick says and pulls Joe inside. "Did you eat anything for dinner besides beer?"
Joe nods emphatically. "Chips."
Nick toast two pieces of bread and spreads peanut butter on them and they eat them side by side, leaning against the marble counters in the dim kitchen. Nick watches Joe lick peanut butter from the crease of his thumb.
"So this is what you've been doing while I've been gone?" he asks neutrally.
"Pretty much," Joe agrees.
"You're a mess," Nick sniffs, turning to put his plate in the sink and suddenly Joe is pressed up against his back, his sharp chin digging into Nick's shoulder. Nick is frozen against the sink.
"We all have our ways of keeping busy, Nick," Joe murmurs and Nick shivers against the warmth soaking through his t-shirt. He turns around but Joe is already halfway up the stairs, kicking off his sneakers.
"Working on getting a beer gut at 20 years old is not what I'd call the best way of keeping busy, Joe," he calls after him, following as Joe heads for Nick's bedroom.
Joe sprawls out on the the bed and peers up at Nick, his face neutral. "No, I know you wouldn't."
---
They watch a couple episodes of Jersey Shore, Joe insisting it's actually secretly brilliant and Nick contesting it's probably one of the five signs of the impending apocalypse.
It gets dark outside and the streetlights come on, casting lines of shadow across Joe's face. Nick watches him out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he mutes the tv and Joe looks over at him expectantly.
"You could have just come with me," Nick says, and he hates the way it comes out a little plaintive, a little sulky.
"I could have stayed?" Joe asks, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wry smile.
"Shut up." Nick lands a punch to his chest. "You are the most conceited person alive."
Joe bugs his eyes out. "Hello, pot? Kettle calling. Pot needs a leg to stand on."
Nick shakes his head. "You're mixing your metaphors." Joe laughs loudly, and Nick's not sure why.
"I just-- don't get why you're hanging around LA, drinking beer and leaving me pointless messages. I thought you were staying to do something, but you aren't doing anything! You could be on tour with me, you could be supporting me, you could be at the shows!" Nick's voice is getting louder and higher with every word, and he hates what he's saying, hates how stupid he sounds, but he can't seem to shut up.
Joe looks upset. "I thought I was supporting you. I thought I was letting you do your own thing, you know, separate from the Jonas Brothers. I thought you wanted that."
Nick kicks at the comforter that's bunched up under his ankles. "I- I do. I just didn't. I didn't know that meant you weren't going to be... around. It's-- harder than I thought it would be. Being alone up there."
"Nick," Joe says suddenly, putting a hand to the curve of Nick's neck, his fingers a cold shock. "I'm sorry. I- I thought it would be good. You know, for us to be on our own. We've never really done... that."
Nick shifts on the bed so he's turned towards Joe, heads on the same pillow. "Has it been? Good?" he asks quietly.
Joe looks down at where their hands lie on the bedspread, fingers barely touching. "No. It's sucked. I got a Twitter so I could talk to you more. I hate Twitter."
Nick huffs a laugh out through his nose. "I know. I thought that was weird."
"I miss you," Joe mumbles, inching forwards on the bed until their noses brush.
"So stay," Nick whispers, and their lips touch as he speaks.
"Fine--" Joe starts, and Nick feels his face break into a smile even as he moves forward to capture Joe's mouth with his own.
"I'll stay."